The Whispering Village

The wyvern soared through the sky, its wings slicing through layers of cloud and storm, the chill of high altitude biting at the trio clinging to its back. Below, the shattered remnants of floating isles drifted silently across the void, silent echoes of battles past.

Kael kept her eyes fixed ahead, her hand clutching the starstone tightly in her cloak. It no longer glowed, but she could feel its warmth—subtle, pulsing, like a heartbeat. It had begun to change ever since the rift closed. She wasn’t sure if it was responding to her... or warning her.

Arin tapped her shoulder, pointing downward.

"There. Smoke. Looks like a village."

Kael leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. Sure enough, thin trails of black smoke rose from a cluster of buildings perched along the edge of a massive cliff. It was quiet, too quiet.

"Set us down behind that ridge," Kael ordered.

The wyvern veered left and descended toward a narrow clearing hidden between jagged rocks. As its claws scraped the stone, the three dismounted quickly. Veylen was already drawing his sword.

"It’s not natural," he muttered, scanning the skies. "No sound. No birds. No wind."

Kael nodded, feeling the same uneasy stillness. She knelt and touched the ground. Cold—unnaturally so. She rose, her jaw clenched.

"Something’s drained this place."

They approached the village carefully. Ash clung to the wooden walls, and many of the buildings had collapsed inward, as if crushed by some unseen force. Arin moved ahead, blades drawn, eyes sharp.

Suddenly, a sound—a faint whisper.

"Did you hear that?" Arin asked, stopping in his tracks.

Kael nodded slowly. The whispering grew louder. It was not language—it was the sound of rustling wings and weeping winds.

Then they saw it. In the center of the village, a massive stone well sat, cracked and glowing faintly. Around it were villagers—at least what remained of them. Their bodies stood perfectly still, covered in soot and ash. Eyes wide open. Unblinking.

"Petrified," Veylen whispered. "They were alive when it happened."

Kael stepped forward, drawn to the well. Her hand trembled as she neared it. The air rippled above its surface, shimmering like heat haze.

Suddenly, the starstone pulsed.

A figure emerged from the well. It was not human. It was tall, draped in shadow and silver. No face, only a mask—smooth, porcelain-white, with black lines running down like tears. It hovered slightly above the ground.

"The Masked One," Veylen said under his breath.

Kael had only heard legends. An ancient being—neither demon nor spirit, bound to the Veil. It appeared before a rift tore through a realm, often a harbinger of chaos.

The Masked One tilted its head.

"You seek the rift," it spoke, its voice echoing from all directions.

Kael steadied herself.

"I want to stop it."

The being drifted closer.

"Then you must face the gatekeeper. One born of both fire and void. It sleeps beneath the Mirror Lake."

Arin stepped beside Kael.

"Why help us?"

"Because the balance must be kept," the Masked One replied. "And you—Kael of the starblood—carry the fire that once sealed the Abyss."

Kael’s heart skipped a beat.

"Starblood? What does that mean?"

But the figure was already fading, dissolving into a flurry of ash and wind.

Veylen looked at Kael.

"You didn’t tell us about that."

She shook her head, bewildered.

"Because I don’t know what it means."

The ground trembled.

Far off, a low roar echoed across the skies. Dark clouds began swirling toward the east—toward Mirror Lake.

Kael turned to Arin and Veylen.

"We head east. Now. Before the rift awakens."

Arin grumbled, but nodded. Veylen simply unsheathed his blade again.

And as the wyvern lifted them once more into the clouds, Kael knew this next rift would be worse. Not just a tear in the Veil—but a doorway to something older, something watching.

Waiting.

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